In my relatively short existence so far, I've (amongst all else) learned one thing: if you look forward to something, it will pass by sooner. Thus, when faced with hard/stressful occasions/situations, I make myself look forward to them, knowing full well it will be over before I know it. Similarly, when faced with positive occasions, I try my best not to think too much of it, to stop trying to bring the occasion and instead leave it on its place in the calendar. This is exactly what I had done upon finding out that I'm going to Scandinavia, and time flies when you're having a good time, alas the last day came and left me feeling morose/blue.

As I mentioned in the beginning, things you're excited about pass by much faster, and so it was time to say our goodbyes to Scandinavia, fully certain of our return. Despite having spent the least amount of time in the city, Copenhagen (and the entire country of Denmark for that matter) remains my favorite of the four capitals I visited on this trip. Even with its incredibly moody weather (seriously, its worse than what they make the UK to be). It's highly likely Meik Wiking's The Little Book of Hygge (which I bought as a souvenir from said country) is to blame, as it simultaneously makes me identify with the danish culture (as I'm already doing many of the things the book mentions), and makes me itch to take part in activities/customs the Danes are keen on doing.

Have you been to Denmark before? I'd love to hear about your expreience below in the comments! 

x, Valens

As travelling by cruise was an element of considerable size on this trip, I'd like to tell you about the night we travelled from Oslo whether to Copenhagen, which qualifies as one of the wilder occurrences in my life. Unlike the cruiseship we took from Stockholm to Helsinki and back, this one was smaller, less comfortable, and more claustrophobia inducing. I'm not sure whether it is the current(s) and/or the winds in that area, or if this was a special occurrence just for our pleasure, but until the early morning hours, the ship was rocking in such large motions that one had trouble keeping balance, let alone walking straight. The cabins we had had no windows, 4 beds, and fit 3 people if they were all standing (god forbid a suitcase were to open, that would reduce the space to only fit the person diggin through it). The really fun times, however, started at dinner time, where the population separated in two groups: the ones who sat mournfully not wanting to eat in fear the food wouldn't stay down, and the ones who battled against the forces of nature to get their fill. Spending a large part of my life living on a sailboat has enabled me to fit into the latter group. There were large round windows showing the lazy mass of waves, the cause of such circumstances, while inside was a mixture of people's murmur and the screeeching of stacks of plates situated on springs within walls of metal, as they peeked out above the counter at the top of a wave and screeched back inside at the bottom. Eating my second serving of a plate full of french fries and nothing else (I'm not particularly good at food when travelling), I'd realised that despite the constant presence of slight claustrophobia, this was one of the cooler things to have happened to me. Looking back, I would not mind returning to that ship at all. Especially when the next morning had me waking up in Copenhagen.